User blog comment:Bartholomew Billberry Bowstring/Mossflower Country & Beyond/@comment-3135907-20110802212559

A loud screeching is taken up within the groves as crows blindly try to fly out in all directions, most slain or knocked into the flames by smooth stones let loose upon them by the slingers. Now the archers are firing non-fire arrows out of their bows to pick off the stray magpie or jackdaw that stumbles out of the frenzy. The screeching and cawing has met a crescendo as the crows cry for help that never comes. In the woods a crow named Vanku has started mobilizing the more sensible black birds who managed to think clearly enough to head for the woods rather than right out toward the slingers and archers to be slain. Vanku is a rather large crow, and he has taken command of the ragged score or so left of the 200 in the groves. "Caw! Wroc has perished! Where is our mighty leader now? Where are the other leaders? Where is Bazir, and Cragar, and Strongwing, and Skifar? All slain, right? Cawhawhaw, the fools!"